


The Body is a Church

by womanning



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-17
Updated: 2013-03-17
Packaged: 2017-12-05 15:47:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/725029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/womanning/pseuds/womanning
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jehan wears Cosette’s skirt, Cosette eats an apple, the two discuss a metaphor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Body is a Church

Jehan’s not sure about the theme of “opposites attract” outside of the fictional universe of romance novels as he finds Cosette a gentle and kind soul with a brave spark just as much as Cosette finds Jehan a gentle and kind soul with a brave spark. They are intensely similar, if anything, with their fingers made for braiding and eyes keen to bright aesthetics. In fact, Cosette perches near him now on the window bench, feet tucked under her sundress, green apple against slightly yellowed teeth, a familiar realization in her eyes.

“Jehan,” she says, words clouded by a nearly full mouth, “is that mine?”

She’s referring to the skirt Jehan wears, turquoise and pleated—it does not match his rosy sweater or floral leggings as much as he believes it does.

            “It is,” Jehan answers fondly, elbows rested on his old desk. “You don’t mind, do you?”

            “Only in the sense that I have a white sweater that would go with it loads better than the one you have on.” This comes out in a sweet, charming tone, but the grin wrapped around her fruit hints devilishness.

            “I like this outfit.”

            “Of course, you do, Jean Prouvaire.”

            He glances at her, a drawn out glance, and thinks thoughts about her face. Her lips, her eyes, they too big for it, unfitting and prominent as if God is a cartoonist. They’re lovely in an ugly way, ugly in a lovely way. Heavy lips, saucer eyes, they make their appearance in his poetry more than he’s willing to admit—but not this one. He taps his notebook with a hand of five fingers, a tap each.

            “I have a new line for you that could possibly be too gruesome,” he says.

            She has finished her apple and places its skeleton on the desk next to his notebook. “You’re poetry isn’t always fun and sun. I want to hear.”

            “Well, the sun is involved, actually.”

            “Oh?”

            “It goes like this.” He reads: “ _You could die a thousand times and the sun would still yet to outshine you_.”

            Cosette tucks fair hair behind her ears. “About me?”

            “Yes.”

            “I like it. You know, gruesome is okay. I can take dark imagery. You can’t treat me as if I’m a church—I’m a person.”

            “A loaded statement,” Jehan says, smiling, he takes her hands in his.

            “Is it really?” she asks, curiously.

            “There’s only two ways to treat a church: worship or arson. A person is treated many ways by many people and I can only hope I treat you—”

            “The way I want,” Cosette finishes for him and needless to say her words are his, his words are hers.

            He squeezes her soft, pink hands and remarks that they’re quite sticky and smell of sour apples.

            “Of course,” she says and moves to him, rests upon his lap, “Of course.” A wet hands runs down his fishtail braid, a round chin digs, warmly so, into his neck, a sweet kiss.

            “I’d rather worship you than set you aflame,” he says, voice quiet and muffled by blond, blond Cosette.

            She lets out a quick laugh and kisses along his freckled cheek, saying, “Don’t get poetic on me.”


End file.
